After Adelaide's ominous announcement, Septimus spends the next twenty minutes or so trying to distract everyone by showing them around his house. They march around the halls and up the stairs, ending with Septimus' bedroom. The room isn't huge by any means, but it's larger than the room that Harry and Tom share at Wool's.

"Lots of Quidditch posters," Adelaide comments as they look around.

Septimus shrugs. "I'm not a huge fan of any particular team. I just really like the sport. But people always seem to get me posters as presents."

Harry walks over to the window, which is open. He can see the backyard from here: all green grass and distant trees. The breeze that pours through the gap between the window and the frame ruffles his hair. Now that his breathing has calmed, Harry feels less anxious than before, though he's still worried about Annalise.

As though sensing Harry's thoughts, Tom moves to shut the bedroom door.

Adelaide directs a wary glance at Tom. Her hair has grown out over the past month. It now hangs part way down her chest.

"Well?" Tom asks.

Septimus winces at the blunt tone, then goes to sit on his bed, patting the space next to him. "Why don't we all sit down first?"

Adelaide moves to where Septimus has his desk set up against the opposite wall, pulling the chair out and settling into it. Harry retreats from the window and sits down next to Septimus, but Tom remains standing by the door.

Another moment passes. Tom starts to tap his foot upon the floor, but Harry shoots him a glare. Tom's foot goes still, though his mouth is still twisted with impatience.

"They sent Annalise to stay with our aunt for the summer," Adelaide says. The sentence rolls off her tongue in an awkward manner. It's unlike how she usually speaks, which is articulate and composed. "She runs a finishing school for young witches."

Harry's heard of finishing schools before. Places for young ladies to learn etiquette and deportment. Ladies of high social standing with grace and poise. He can't imagine that Annalise is having a good time there, surrounded by rich, stuffy types.

"Annalise is too young for that," Septimus says, unsure. "We're all still in school."

"Not too young to stay there for the summer. To 'absorb the social culture'." Adelaide's frown is bitter. "All of your letters with her this summer have been going through me. She's not supposed to be allowed to write to anyone else."

"That's terrible," says Harry. "They can't do that, can they?"

"It's already happened," Adelaide says, sounding snappish again. "I tried to convince them to let her out today. I had a plan. And it would have worked, only—" She cuts herself off abruptly, frustration visible in the set of her brow. "Nevermind. It doesn't change anything, anyway."

"Is there anything we can do?" asks Septimus. "It doesn't seem fair she's spending summer all alone."

Adelaide shakes her head, adamant. "If there was, I would have done it already."

"I meant more—is there anything we can do to help cheer her up?" Septimus clarifies.

"You're her friends, aren't you?" Adelaide demands. Her arms are crossed again, only it looks more like she's attempting to hold herself together rather than trying to fend any of them off. "Be her friend. That's what you can do for her."

Atticus makes them all pasta with meat sauce for lunch. They also have some fresh strawberries and a plate of buttered rolls. Though neither Harry nor Tom ask for it, Atticus serves them both extra helpings of food, which Harry is unexpectedly touched by. Perhaps Septimus had mentioned that his friends were not well-off, though Atticus does seem to be under the impression that they're simply Muggleborns who live together.

The topic of conversation moves around a lot during the course of lunch. After asking about Nathaniel, Harry learns that the Gryffindor Prefect is now dating his counterpart, Genie Jones.

"They keep going to this tea shop in Hogsmeade," Septimus says, gesturing abstractedly in the air with his fork. "Madam Puddifoot's. Thing is, I don't think either of them actually like it there? All Nathaniel does is complain about how pink it is inside."

"Young love," says Atticus, wistful. "I remember back in my day, when the shop originally opened. People were queueing up to go in."

Adelaide sniffs. "It all sounds like a waste of time, if you ask me."

"That's what you say now," Atticus tells them. "Give it a few more years, then you'll see what all the fuss is about."

After lunch Nathaniel shows up, having finished his date with Genie. He has a little skip in his step as he walks up to ruffle Septimus' hair. Septimus rolls his eyes, taking it in stride.

"Heard you lot were going to play a game of Quidditch," Nathaniel says.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Septimus interjects, ducking out from under his brother's hand. "I got a new broomstick for my good grades. The Cleansweep Three!"

Harry remembers seeing that model on display in Diagon Alley late last summer. "That's really great," Harry says, enthusiastic. "How's it fly?"

"It's fantastic," Septimus says. "Let me go and grab it."

The rest of them file outside into the sunshine. Nathaniel starts talking about his OWLs, which had apparently arrived some time during the past week. He'd gotten nine total, mostly E for Exceeds Expectations, and he plans to pursue a career in spell creation.

"It's supposed to be really tricky to invent new spells," Nathaniel tells them. "But I've been taking Arithmancy for a reason, you know! And Ancient Runes. Bloody difficult, they are."

It is then that Septimus returns with his broom, a second broom, and a Quaffle. Nathaniel takes the Quaffle from him, then offers to referee their match.

Harry recalls that Septimus had told Annalise she could referee. It's upsetting that she isn't here.

Adelaide seems to feel the same way. She is frowning, though not directly at Nathaniel.

"You and Evans against Riddle and I," she says a beat later, the words brisk. Then she reaches into her satchel bag and retrieves two broomsticks. "Could you unshrink these, please?" she asks Nathaniel.

"Sure." Nathaniel unshrinks the broomsticks and hands them back to her. He's not of age yet, but this action confirms that children in magical households have more leeway with their magic.

"Here," Adelaide says. She holds out one of the brooms out to Harry.

"This one's for you," Septimus tells Tom, giving the second broom he's holding a bit of a shake. "It's Atticus' broom, but he said you could borrow it for today."

Nathaniel conjures two large hoops, then suspends one hoop in the air on either end of the backyard. "Two Chasers and two Keepers?" he asks them.

"Sounds good," Septimus says. "Harry, d'you want to be the Chaser?"

Harry shrugs. "If you want me to."

Adelaide is already moving towards the hoop, broomstick propped on her shoulder, which leaves Tom to play the other Chaser.

"It'd be more fun with Beaters," Nathaniel says. "But we don't have the brooms for it. Plus I'm really bad at Quidditch." Then Nathaniel casts a Sticking Charm on Harry's glasses for him, so they don't fall off during the game.

"It's alright," Harry says. "We'll still have fun."

Atticus comes out with two chairs floating along next to him. He sets the chairs down upon the lawn and plops down into one of them.

"Are you sure you'll be alright to play, Harry?" asks Atticus. "Maybe you lot can just fly some laps instead."

"No, I'm fine, really," Harry says. "If I feel bad then I'll call a timeout, I promise."

Nathaniel gives the Quaffle in his hands a light toss. "We ready to go, then?"

The four of them who are playing nod in assent, and then the game begins. Harry had forgotten how much he loved flying. Even here in the Weasley's backyard, with the four of them not more than a few meters off the ground, Harry relishes in the sensation of being momentarily weightless whenever he swoops down.

As the game progresses, Harry realizes that he isn't used to competing against Tom. Tom appears to be holding back as well, though it's probably because he's still concerned about Harry's cough. The end result is that they are both hesitant to go after each other for the Quaffle, and so the first game nearly ends in a tie. Harry and Septimus win only because Septimus is a better Keeper than Adelaide is.

"Let's take a ten minute break," Adelaide calls from across the yard. "We can talk strategy."

Septimus shrugs and dismounts his broom. "Alright."

Harry and Septimus take a seat on the ground. "I think we can beat them easily," Septimus says, tugging at some of the grass by his feet. "Tom's not as good on a broom as you are, and Adelaide doesn't think like a Quidditch player ought to. If you can get a bit more aggressive, Harry, then we can win."

"I'll try," Harry promises. It is only a game, he tells himself. And Tom doesn't mind that Harry is better at Quidditch than he is.

On the other side of the makeshift field, Tom and Adelaide are engaged in a heated argument. Adelaide is making pointed gestures with her left hand while Tom has his arms crossed.

"It's not going to work, Riddle," she says, her voice now loud enough to reach Harry's ears.

Tom glances over at where Harry and Septimus are sitting, then responds to Adelaide. His brow stays lowered. Harry can't hear exactly what it is that Tom's saying, but he can tell how Tom is feeling based on his posture and facial expressions. Tom is frustrated and angry, but there's a bit of resignation mixed in there as well.

"It's just a game," Septimus shouts at them. "Don't get so riled up!"

Tom scowls, stomping back over. "Let's just play."

The second game also ends with Harry and Septimus winning, although this time Harry is the one to carry their team of two to victory by scoring goal after goal. Adelaide congratulates Harry and Septimus on a good game as Harry hands her broom back to her. The afternoon is fading away, and soon Harry and Tom will have to return to Wool's.

"You'd make a great Chaser as well, Harry," Atticus says. "Great reflexes and aim."

"Thanks," Harry says.

Adelaide and Tom are standing together still, their postures stiff. Then Adelaide nudges Tom with her elbow. Tom glares at her. Their respective expressions of exasperation and annoyance are oddly similar to each other.

"Septimus, can I talk to you for a moment?" Tom asks. "Please?"

"Sure," says Septimus.

That leaves Harry with Adelaide, Nathaniel, and Atticus. Atticus grabs his broomstick and Septimus', then wanders back towards the house.

"What's that about?" Nathaniel asks into the silence.

"A favour," Adelaide says. "Could you shrink my brooms back down, please?"

Nathaniel does so, and Adelaide tucks them back into her bag. "Thank you for hosting us all today," she adds. "You've been very kind."

"Not a problem," Nathaniel says. "You're all invited over in the future, of course."

"Thanks," Harry responds, though his attention is focused across the yard.

Septimus and Tom are still talking. Maybe Tom is asking about the possibility of staying here at the Weasley's next summer. Though that doesn't quite line up with his conversation with Adelaide. Harry twists his hands together for a moment, trying to think. He doesn't like feeling left out, but Adelaide is very smart—Tom might have been asking her for advice or something.

"It will all work out," Adelaide says, drawing Harry's attention back to his surroundings. "Don't worry, Evans. Your friend knows what he's doing."

"You lot are so serious," Nathaniel says. "You're just kids! You shouldn't be so worried about everything."

Adelaide shrugs. The roll of her shoulders is so fluid and effortless that Harry can't help but think it must be practiced. "You're only four years older than we are," she says.

"Yes, four whole years," says Nathaniel, emphatic. "And I'm a Prefect."

Septimus and Tom walk back over. Septimus moves like he's lost in a haze, his gaze a little distant, though his face does clear up as his eyes land on Harry.

"Everything alright?" Nathaniel asks them.

"Yeah," says Septimus. "It's all fine."

Nathaniel seems to take this at face value. "Well, I suppose we should be getting everyone home. Atticus can Apparate you two back to the Leaky," he adds to Harry and Tom.

"That would be nice, thank you," Tom says.

"We'll make plans to meet again before September," Septimus says. "To get our school things."

Harry and Adelaide both nod, and then everyone heads back into the house.

"Can we still write to Annalise?" Harry asks Adelaide.

Adelaide's gaze flickers to Nathaniel, who is walking off somewhere, perhaps to fetch Atticus. "Of course," she says. "I'll make sure she gets everything."

"Good," says Septimus, who has stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. "She should know we're here for her."

By the time Tom and Harry arrive back at Wool's, they've missed dinner. Mrs. Cole gives them some leftovers, then sends them off to their room. Harry is burning with curiosity over Tom's odd, secretive conversations, but he forces himself to wait until they're properly alone.

"Tom?"

Tom is flipping through one of their old textbooks, but he looks up as Harry addresses him. Harry thinks that Tom must have read all their texts at least a dozen times by now.

"Yes?" Tom asks.

"What were you talking about with Adelaide and Septimus today?"

A flash of annoyance spreads across Tom's face. But the emotion fades quickly, leaving Tom's usual bored expression in its place. "It's nothing, really. Adelaide suggested that Septimus try out for the Gryffindor team along with you."

That takes Harry by surprise. "As Keeper?" Harry asks, confused.

Tom doesn't answer right away. He chews on his lower lip, strumming his fingers on the book on his lap. Then he says, "Beater." His eyes are narrowed, and he doesn't sound that enthusiastic about it.

"Oh. That's nice, isn't it?" Harry hadn't thought Septimus was interested in playing on the house team. But Septimus does like Quidditch a lot, and he flies really well. He would make a good team player. "So you were trying to convince him?"

"Yes," Tom says. "He was agreeable enough. Some of his older brothers used to play on their house teams, so he's bound to have an aptitude for it."

"Makes sense," Harry says, deciding to let the conversation die. Instead of sitting, Harry chooses to flop onto his back on his bed. As he stares up at the ceiling, he tries to look at things from Tom's perspective. Adelaide had said something wasn't working, and Tom had gotten… well, angry isn't quite the right word. It doesn't make sense for Tom to get angry at Adelaide for suggesting Septimus play Beater. Harry must still be missing a piece of the puzzle.

"Did you have a nice time today?" Tom asks, after a few minutes have gone by.

"Yeah," Harry says. He sits up, propping his elbows on his thighs. "It's too bad Annalise couldn't come, but it was really great to see everyone else. And Atticus was really nice about the Floo and offering to look me over. And I missed broomstick flying, too. And the Quidditch game was fun."

"It was a well-played game," Tom agrees. Then the timbre of his voice changes, turning somber as he continues, "Once we're all back at Hogwarts, we'll be able to help Annalise better."

Harry bobs his head a few times. "I hope so. I still can't believe that her parents sent her away like that. I hope they won't be doing it every summer… I can't imagine how lonely she's feeling right now."

What Harry really wishes is that they could do something to help her immediately, but now that Tom is also dedicated to the task, they might be able to do something more about it. Surely with both Adelaide and Tom working on a plan together they can come up with something that will work.

"Both sisters are in a difficult situation," Tom says. "But I'll think of something."

"That's good," Harry says. "I'm glad we'll be helping." Harry lies back down, unable to shake away his morose thoughts. Clearly he and Tom aren't the only ones who miss being at Hogwarts. Of the five of them, Septimus is the only one who is enjoying his summer holidays.

Harry wakes from a nightmare that evening, his body trembling. He can't recall exactly what he'd been dreaming of, but fear still lingers in his mind, a silent monster that never leaves him. Usually Harry has the same dream and he remembers it upon waking, but this time his mind is blank.

"Harry?" It is Tom's sleep-softened voice that usually soothes Harry's nerves, but Harry can't seem to stop his heart from racing.

"Sorry I woke you," Harry says, swallowing.

"I was already awake."

Harry looks over to see that Tom is already sitting up. In the dark, Harry can only barely make out his eyes. They look more opaque in the moonlight.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tom's voice sounds distant to Harry's ears, like they're across the room from each other rather than tucked into the same bed.

"I don't remember," Harry says honestly. "It just woke me up."

Tom doesn't answer for a long while. If Tom hadn't been upright, Harry would have assumed that he'd fallen back asleep.

"Alright," Tom says eventually. "We should go back to bed, then."

Harry reaches over to touch Tom's arm, just to make sure Tom is really there. Tom is turned towards the window; the dim lighting casts odd shadows on his face. He looks less like a child, more like something else. Someone else. But when Harry's hand touches him, Tom turns away from the moon, and the shadows seem suddenly softer.

"Okay," Harry says, once he's satisfied that Tom is lying next to him. That he's not, in fact, still dreaming. "Good night, Tom."

"Good night, Harry."

A/N:

some stuff and things happening here in this chapter... i wonder what it all means? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

thank you for all the comments last chapter ❤️